Ultimatum
by Sekah
Summary: The only one alive after the Dark Tournament, Toguro gives Kurama the same ultimatum he gave everyone else. Pairing: Toguro/Kurama, Bui/Kurama, Karasu/Kurama, etc.
1. Chapter 1

The dust clung to the sweat on Kurama's skin, Kurama thinking longingly of being clean. He would travel to Spirit World with ash in his mouth and grit crunching like firecrackers when he ground his teeth. Death was approaching — his final moments stripped by the fingers of a colossal man who advanced like a chaos god, mute and unstoppable — and Kurama was surprised at how far-off the fear was. When he was shot, and made his escape to the living world, his heart had been skipping in his chest, every limb vibrating with life. Now he felt steadier, distant, though his mind buzzed with two thousand far-flung years of useless memories, coming cheek-by-jowl with tactics and stratagems, each more impractical than the last.

Images of his mother played gray or with too much color, distorted by anxiety, scenes of being caught laughing in sun showers too fast, too loud, as though the film playing them were scratched. Coarse gusts of sand jabbed down Kurama's nose and throat and choked him, stung his eyes and blinded him, whipping his scarlet hair into his face. He could see the stadium reduced to smoldering rubble all around, a panorama of destruction muddled by corpses and smoke-belching fires. The few hardy demons left alive cowered behind dilapidated chunks of concrete, the final remnants of the stands, knowing there was nothing they could do to slow the inevitable. Their glassy eyes watched ceaselessly. Kurama wished he could kill them himself.

Well behind Toguro, Sakyo cupped a hand behind his gold lighter and lit a cigarette, the crimson glow framing him like he'd opened hell in his palm. He leaned on a ruined hunk of rock, steel rods twisting out of its side like nothing, like plastic ties on loaves of bread. He looked up from his cigarette and gorged himself on Kurama's fear with amusement.

All the emotions churning bitterly beneath the surface were numbed for the moment, Kurama's face a blank contortion of agony and lassitude. "Kill me," he said wearily, "or I'll kill you."

Toguro looked him over speculatively, Yusuke's blood dripping from his massive fist, Hiei's body stepped over like a black and red ragdoll behind him, a rock in his path. The small, vicious fighter's katana was in half to his right, still emitting sparks from Hiei's sad attempt to summon the ningen flame with his weakened power. Kuwabara would bleed out soon without medical treatment, the wounds that had been merciful at first now cruel. Awed by the magnitude of the situation, Koenma awaited his execution behind Kurama, the last fighter left standing. Kurama could hear the pacifier worked maniacally between teeth, could smell the fear. It was heady and nerve-wracking, but it couldn't penetrate his sickening calm.

Toguro, though weakened by his battle with Yusuke, was miles too strong for even the most effective of Kurama's attacks. Kurama knew it, but still readied seeds, preparing his own futile, last-ditch effort, a final attempt to die gracefully, with honor.

Toguro was watching him so intensely Kurama half wished he could look away. He might have, too, but distracting his attention would stop him from seeing death coming, would leave him unable to face it head on.

Toguro's voice rumbled through his certainty. "Your autonomy is over, kitsune. Do you understand?"

"I wish to die," Kurama stated evenly, feeling the words fill him, grant him fortitude. He was alarmed at the implications of Toguro's statement.

"What you wish is none of your business. You work for me now. Now move out of the way."

Kurama, eyes brightening with defiance, fisted both hands and then brought them up to run casual fingers through his singed, smoke-wreathed hair, plucking seedlings and summoning what little youki was left from his fight and healing to jam into them. He kept between Toguro and Koenma, who leaned wide-eyed behind him, a quick backward glance showing the pacifier about to drop from gaping lips. Kurama's face was grim, knowing how pointless this was. He still bled from Karasu's bombs—a single cuff from Toguro could crush him in an instant.

With the ache of losing so many beloved and trusted comrades, however, Kurama was far beyond that, at the level of self-annihilation where wishes and desires all become tied to a single, blinding thing: to die.

In moments Toguro was there. Kurama felt a sickening crunch, and then nothing more. His world had dissolved.

When Kurama next awoke, it was to slick white sheets and bandages, nudity, and manacles sitting cold around his wrists. He blinked, instantly alert, but in too much agony, emotional and physical, to arise immediately as he normally would have. He felt numbed to the point of inertia, of apathy.

Kurama could see dungeon walls of lurid black rock, and a sliver of the granite slabs that made up the floor. This place was as dank and unforgiving as his heart, so he didn't question the oddity of being there. He welcomed it, even. He wanted to be left alone to rot, and this place looked perfect for decay.

"You're awake."

Hearing the gruff voice, Kurama overcame his stupor. He had to clench the sheets in his fists to sit upright, pulling them out of their precise folds. His eyes burned with hatred. Toguro stood on the other side of the cell, taking up his usual impressive amount of space, the same heavy green trench coat hanging down behind him. His body was back to one of the lower percents, a new pair of sunglasses in place. He looked the same, completely untouched. It made Kurama ache, for Yusuke, for home, for a thousand comfortable things that had nothing to do with this man, this monster.

"Why am I shackled?" His words bit more than was strictly politic, and Toguro shifted in place, his eyes just unreadable glimpses behind the sunglasses.

"It's an exercise," Toguro stated casually. "Thief that you are, I know you can break the lock, but unless these manacles have been ripped from the wall, without the wall being tampered with by yoki or reiki, I'll chain you back up again. You will be fed. A chamber pot will be provided. You'll find the running chain covers the length of the bed, and a good portion of the floor as well. If you need something to build up your strength, weights, whatever, I'll give it to you."

Incensed, Kurama's eyes glowed, his hands fisting again over the clean white sheets. "I see no reason to play such a foolish game," he said, his chin jutting in petulant defiance.

Toguro's head tilted down, seeming amused. "Then here's your incentive."

Before Kurama could block, an unkind hand in his hair was tilting his face up, and he snarled as rough lips sealed his mouth. Toguro pinned the flailing boy to the bed, a hand grabbing and jerking at Kurama's pinioned wrists when he clawed at Toguro desperately. The mattress sunk and bowed under Toguro's weight. Kurama found himself immobilized by the mass above him, feeling more like a mountain than a man.

The kiss was tongue and teeth, vile and dominated. Kurama tossed his head to be free, but it did nothing, only made saliva slide down his chin and his scalp ache. When Toguro pulled back, tears stung Kurama's eyes, brought on by grief, rage, helplessness. He cringed into the bed, unwilling to speak and add to this humiliation.

"Every day at five o'clock I'll come back to assess the situation. Most of the time, I'll fuck you." Kurama, scrubbing his chin bitterly, looked up in horror at that. "Sometimes, I won't. Usually those times will be when you've done something intelligent. Sometimes worse things will happen, if you've done something stupid. This set-up includes today. Running will do nothing, and if you're weak enough to kill yourself you don't deserve my attention in the first place. Besides, fox," Toguro said, grinning, like a lion yawning to show off its teeth, "don't you want to kill me?"

Kurama said nothing. His eyes raged eloquently on his behalf.

"It's two o'clock right now. I'll be back in three hours. Bui, by the way, had pulled out before the first check-up. Karasu took about four or five days to manage it. I expect you to take twice as long at least, but it's not impossible, and it is, while highly unlikely, possible to avoid being fucked until you do it. Just play by the rules and put your best effort in."

Kurama grasped the manacles in his palms, rolling over off his back and onto his side, shoulders shuddering, legs crossing each other. His mind was too agonizingly blank to know what to say.

"Three hours."

Then he exited the room, leaving Kurama in a whirl of numbness, morphing slowly into hatred and despair.

He examined the wall first off, trying to see if this Herculean task were doable. It had been well crafted. The mason had chosen massive, immovable chunks of rock, and then gummed them together with concrete in between. Concrete had even been poured over the loops of the running chain, which was welded of thick iron, one chain coming from the wall and then breaking into two prongs, which led to his wrists. It meant he couldn't look inside, and pulling told him nothing but that it felt like it would never give.

He began probing, and reasoning. He meditated. He pulled, knowing that his human strength would never be enough. He managed to fray the concrete a little, and then used his fingers to pull crumbling bits of it out. When one particular piece was being exceptionally stubborn, and he'd jammed and bloodied two fingers trying to pry at it, he used a bit of moss to scoop it out, hoping his illicit use would go unnoticed. Hoping, but also seething inside at the clandestine defiance, all he allowed himself with the high stakes.

Three hours passed without progress, finding Kurama sitting cross-legged on the bed, stroking his chin in thought and peering into the hole he'd managed to make in the foundation. Truth be told, a part of him relished the challenge, which he was taking more as an intellectual one than a physical battle. He was puzzling over a cleverer way to chip at the stone when the door swung open. There was no lock.

Kurama looked up, and the truth, which his brain had buried in the catharsis of a riddle, was brought back to him full force with Toguro's grim face. He looked away, folding his hands demurely in his lap, trying to still his stammering heart as he realized what his lack of progress would quickly mean—a rape. The word made his stomach tighten and his shoulders bow in.

Toguro strode over the short distance, boots thunking against the stone floor, and then picked up Kurama's hands, earning a hateful look.

His nails were ragged, and his fingers swollen and bloody from his work on the stone today. There was an imprinted circle of chafes and sickly bruises around the manacles already. Toguro pinched the skin of Kurama's wrist gently, as a doctor might, and listened to his pained hiss. He seemed pleased, and Kurama had begun to hope, but then he turned his attention to the wall. Thick fingers pried away some stone, and then were brought to his nose and sniffed.

When he turned his eyes back to Kurama, his brow was flat with disapproval. "You used a plant, didn't you?"

"Some moss—nothing more," Kurama murmured helplessly. He was grabbed by his wrists and dragged effortlessly up until he was stretched over the bed, his arms straight in the air and his toes clinging to the sheets in an attempt to stand, and not dangle. The running chain formed a slope his sweat and blood followed, drops of both sliding down. He was naked, the bandages for his wounds covering the wrong parts of him, and vulnerable to Toguro's scrutiny. Kurama cringed, face paling, his body feeling slight and breakable, ugly and skinny and pitiful, as Toguro considered it. Lowering chin to chest, panting, the fox waited for an inevitable touch.

"How many times have you fucked?" Toguro asked instead. "In this form, I mean."

The question shocked him. "I'm still—still chaste. Please—I beg you, don't do this."

"What have you done?"

"Masturbated. Nothing more. Please."

Toguro's pulled back slightly, surprise written on his broad face. "Is that so?"

"I don't—I didn't have many people I trusted enough to allow to see me that way."

"Ah," Toguro said. "Kid, you wanted to fall in love, didn't you?"

The bluntness of that summation, the disdain of it, the enormity of the situation, all undid him. The tears he couldn't suppress were answer enough, dripping down his cheeks, caught on the corners of his lips and tasted or making their way to his chin, a few brave droplets falling all the way to the mattress.

"You have to learn to obey my orders." Kurama stared at him, trembling, his green eyes beginning to redden already from his quiet, dignified weeping. Toguro held his eyes, everything inside them beyond reasoning or acknowledgement for Kurama. "I'm sure you understand the point of this. I will tell you to do many, many things you will hate. This is conditioning. I tell you this because you know it already."

"I do," Kurama whispered, gulping to aid his dry throat, closing his stinging eyes in an attempt to end the tears. "You're teaching me how I'm expected to observe commands. You have to teach me what happens when I don't, or when I disappoint. But please—this is cruel. Please."

Toguro dropped Kurama's hands, watching as he immediately sank to the balls of his feet and sat on his ass, curling to hide himself from Toguro's gaze, looking young and small, though Toguro had seen the viciousness of his fights. "I can't beat you, boy, if that's what you're hoping for. You can take a beating, and it would lay you up for a week, so you couldn't finish the trial. And then what do I do tomorrow—beat you again? You'd die within days, that way; you haven't improved enough then." He pondered. "But I won't outright rape you over moss. Spread your thighs, and touch yourself. Masturbate. Until I tell you to stop or you get off, whatever comes first. Do not hide. Other than that, you're under no restrictions."

Kurama wanted to rail at the man, so much so that he was wracked by the first sob when he acknowledged he couldn't, though it was a sound of rage and not of pain. He could demand or beg for a halt, but what then? Toguro would think of another punishment, surely, but pushing the limits of this brutal man's kindness would yield nothing—just pain. Pride was one thing, but there was no pride here. Kurama didn't feel the slightest bit proud for surviving like this. At least in this instance, the assault would leave no bruises, and he wouldn't have to see pleasure at his agony in his enemy's face. With that in mind, Kurama rearranged himself slowly, never looking at any part of Toguro but his coat.

His thighs were shy and narrow, and trembled as he fought against his urgent need to keep them clenched. His hand went down and timidly grazed his ball sac. He began nursing himself to life with a humiliated wince, taking deep breaths and chewing on his lips until they bled to stop the crying. Kurama willed himself to become erect, focused all his energy on it, but made the mistake of looking into Toguro's face. He stared, his hand dropping his limp cock.

"For a former bandit, you're not very resilient, kitsune," Toguro remarked.

Kurama looked away, insulted. "That is not me anymore."

"I gathered. I thought you would be the best fit for employment. I wanted to give your team a final chance. I apologize."

"What?"

"I'm sorry." Toguro leaned back, and surveyed Kurama. "I only just realized the danger I've put you in."

"Can't you just—leave me alone? From your previous actions, it's not all your men who are given this—treatment."

"The weaker ones are spared it," Toguro agreed. "They'll never amount to anything anyway. For the stronger, rape is a great motivation. I don't protect the strong ones from each other, either. If they hate each other, it's just as good as hating me."

"Is Karasu still alive?"

"Yes. Recuperating. He won't leave you alone, boy. He knows better than to kill you, now that you work for me, but beyond that…"

Kurama flinched, his mouth dry. There were many things Karasu desired that didn't require killing. "So, what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life," he snarled finally, bitterly, "is to be your fuck-toy, when I'm not being Karasu's fuck-toy, when I'm not being Aniki's fuck-toy, when I'm not being Sakyo's fuck-toy?"

Toguro was watching him strangely. "Get stronger, and none of us will touch you."

"And how many years will that take? How many beds will I have warmed by that point?" Kurama exclaimed. "Inari, just kill me!"

"Nothing is solved by death, Kurama." Toguro was watching him. "And that is enough stalling. Punish yourself, or I'll do it for you."

Kurama glared openly at Toguro, and then, riding on a wave of anger, knelt with his thighs defiantly wide. He gulped audibly, his eyes sliding again from Toguro's face to his coat, and wrapped a hand around his entirely limp cock.

Remembering that he would be allowed to end this if he came, Kurama set about trying to arouse himself, finding it incredibly difficult whenever he remembered who was watching him. He managed an erection by screwing his eyes closed, and his hand began to grip and tug shyly. Toguro and Kurama were both silent, the only sound in the room Kurama's breath, which echoed in ragged, humiliated puffs.

It took longer than it should have, Kurama's hand timid and his body trembling. Occasionally he'd forget himself and thrust his hips once, but upon remembering the silent presence in front of him the thrusting stopped. He had to widen his thighs again several times. Despite fierce mental discipline, they kept inching closed, obeying his mind's longing for privacy and respectful treatment.

He came, finally, with barely a skipped breath, sinking his teeth into his lips, not opening his eyes and not making a single sound. There was nothing pleasurable about this. Kurama viewed it as something of a business transaction.

He sat, staring at his already flaccid cock, his hands lax in his lap, disgraced. He didn't want to look up. He could smell Toguro's arousal. He didn't want to see it as well.

"Who do you want to fuck you?"

"Yusuke Urameshi," Kurama replied immediately. "At home, in my bed, far away from here."

"Hah. And of my men?"

Kurama raised tormented eyes to meet Toguro's gaze. "Why do you ask?"

"You're young. I can see how much this shames you. Normally I want fighters to burn cold with fury, so they improve trying to match me. This isn't going to have that effect on you—I can see it in your face, you're scared, you're already withdrawing. Sex won't temper you, like it does most of my elite fighters, at least not when you're this inexperienced. It'll break you instead, and then you won't be of any use to me."

"So you'll relegate the task of raping me to someone else?"

Toguro cocked an eyebrow. "Yes," he said simply.

Kurama stared at his hands again, weighing his options. "Is Bui—is he unkind in bed?"

Toguro shook his head and replied, "So long as he's not fucking Karasu or me he's surprisingly respectful and attentive."

Kurama, still unable to meet Toguro's eyes, whispered, "When would he…?

"You need sleep tonight, and you won't get it if you spend the night scared. He'll come once I leave."

"Like a doctor giving a shot. Get it over with." Kurama laughed humorlessly. Tears muddied his vision the second he did; he stared at the features of his enemy. To his shame, he heard himself sob. He hiccuped, sobbing again, and found his hands over his face, smearing semen on his cheek, as he wept, wept as he hadn't since the night before the hellish final round of the Dark Tournament. He understood how foolish he was being. He understood he was shaming himself in front of a man he despised. What good were tears? They represented the briefest of catharses. When he stopped crying, Yusuke and the others would still be dead, he would still be alone in enemy country, and undoubtedly Toguro would be angry enough to exact a horrible payment for his dissolving into tears.

He heard himself choke out Yusuke, and hadn't the slightest clue what Toguro was making of this. It wasn't that Kurama didn't care—who knows what punishments he was earning—it was that he simply couldn't stop at this point. He was lonely and afraid, and once the dam had been passed the water flooded.

It was minutes before he was himself again, the last hiccupping sobs running their course. Toguro still stood across from him, looking at him with unreadable eyes. Kurama immediately began to blot his face and nose on the bed sheets, scrubbing away tears furiously.

"Crying is a weakness," Toguro said. He sounded more curious than angry.

"Crying is a purging of emotions," Kurama disagreed quietly. "There's a reason we cry."

Toguro grunted his difference of opinion. "Wipe your face," he said, rather than voicing it. "Bui will be over shortly."


	2. Chapter 2

Bui, sans his usual armor, walked into his own former dungeon and closed the door firmly. They stared at each other, the mood painfully tense and palpably awkward. Kurama's eyes were red and itching from tears.

Bui cleared his throat, looking deeply uncomfortable. "I've been given orders, Kurama."

"I know," Kurama said, suddenly unable to look the man in the eye.

Bui walked forward, footsteps heavy, and sighed when he sat beside Kurama on the bed. "Talk with me, before I demean myself. How do you think you're going to break the wall?"

Kurama turned to stare at him, shocked. He paused. "I intend to compromise its load-bearing capacity," he answered slowly. "Holes in strategic points and then a punch."

"How's it going?"

"Slow," Kurama hissed. "Too slow. It'll take days to bore the right holes. Physically, I'm not quite strong and precise enough. If only I could become Youko Kurama—"

"Have you asked Toguro for whatever let you turn?"

Kurama turned, and stared at him. "I assumed—" he started, and then paused, considering.

"Jobs need to be done, by hook or by crook, Kurama. But he always tells them he'll provide what they need to get stronger. If you ask, he may even allow you a drill."

Kurama turned to him, seeing him finally. Bui was a potential ally. He'd thought it before, but this was a freely-offered confirmation. "Thank you," he said. He meant it.

Bui sighed, rubbed his hair, and slapped his knees in an anxious motion, rumbling, "You're welcome. I bear you no ill will, Kurama," he added, hunching forward, towards the floor. "You fight bravely and well. But sex is a reality in this madhouse."

"Rape," Kurama supplied.

Bui nodded along. "You were right to choose me. I have no stomach for it. This demeans us both, Kurama. But Toguro is overwhelming," he said flatly, "and I can only hope for your sake you don't catch his eye too often or for too long. We will not do this again," Bui finished, his voice sincere.

"No," Kurama admitted. "It is likely we will not."

Determined to rid himself of passivity, of the feeling of helplessness, of being acted upon, Kurama went to the edge of his bonds and bit and sucked the lobe of Bui's ear, in easy reach from how low his hopeless head hung.

Bui ran his calloused hands over Kurama's body, not petting but caressing, curious. Kurama allowed himself to become lost in it.

It felt like sex: just sex. To Bui and to Kurama things became less complicated. Bui was more than attentive, he was kind: he soaked the boy in his mouth and fingers, and when Kurama froze, he froze too, allowing the boy to repress himself once more.

They clung, wet and shivering as drowning kittens.

Bui sucked Kurama's hardness, and swallowed his release. He carefully worked him loose, with lips and tongue and hands. He taught the body the skills the Youko mind and soul knew. Kurama had theoretical knowledge, but no muscle memory. Bui had brought lubricant, on hearing his orders: thoughtful.

When he finally pressed into the boy, neither could bear to look at the other. Both of them thought of a different person.

Both of them tried to ignore the rattle of chains.

Kurama came soon after Bui. Bui even was kind enough to keep his weight off the slim-waisted redhead who stared at the ceiling so blankly.

He removed his own shirt to clean Kurama, and himself as an afterthought.

Kurama wasn't sure if it hadn't been as bad as he'd thought, or if it were a thousand times worse. Nevertheless, Bui apologized one last time, promised he'd tell Toguro to come in so he could request what he needed, and left, with the air of a man running away from his own guilty demons.

When Toguro came, he had the decency not to ask any questions. He heard Kurama out, nodded, and promised the seeds and drill would be delivered as soon as possible. He left with the words, "Get some sleep."

Though loathe to obey an order, Kurama did just that.


End file.
